


The Man Who Isn't There

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder struggles with the façade of Zane and the reality of Sylar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Isn't There

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mylar Fic prompt: "Prompt: "The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person." - Chuck Palahniuk

When he allows his mind to actually _go there_, when he lets himself play host to the sordid notion as fact rather than some abstract idea that refuses to let go, he can no longer deny what ails and lifts him up: he loves and is loved, but never the twain shall meet. Taking the difficult path comes naturally to Mohinder, and what that says about him—the trouble he either steps in or is found by—is something he prefers not to think too heavily on.

Standing at the kitchen counter, he presses the palms of his hands flat against the cool surface and stares off, unfocused. He can hear the water in the kettle beginning to boil and he sighs quietly as memories, both real and recreated by his imagination, pick apart his brain.

At the time of their first meeting and subsequent travel together, it wasn’t what it is now. Zane was awkward but interesting; odd but smart, funny and passionate. He was a curious curosity that challenged Mohinder to think about how far he was willing to jump, and wouldn’t it be better to have someone to do that with? He was all those things that piqued Mohinder’s interest and hindsight being what it is, Mohinder should have known a part of him was falling already against expectations and broken odds.

It was too early to be real and yet the familiarity he felt with Zane was one he had never felt with anyone else, romantically or platonically. That alone made him want to hold onto it, analyze its make up until he couldn’t think clearly, and revel in it like some wondrous mindtrip that flowed over his body and exploded across his mind.

He liked Zane the first go around and heartbreak to the contrary aside he still holds on dearly to their time—lamentably, too much so. He has played conversations and innocent touches over and over again searching for the crack in the façade or the unmitigated truth. He mixes those realities with ‘what ifs’ and feels the wounding stab of murderous lies more profoundly the further away from the epicenter he gets. Such is the consequence of falling in love with Zane (or the idea of him after the fact) in a life that is now far removed from that one.

In the end it wasn’t meant to be.

Or maybe this is exactly what was always supposed to happen.

Zane was a construct of make believe meant to trap Mohinder and he was almost undone by it. Zane was Sylar’s trail of breadcrumbs to the end of the world, yet even with the red curtain pulled away Mohinder finds himself in the crosshairs of an obsessive mad man who _refuses_ to let go.

Sylar is meticulous, his attacks calculated. The assurity with which he moves is fascinating and it strokes a small piece of Mohinder with envy for that unfettered drive, that absolute certainty. Sylar is smooth where Zane pretended to trip, he is cunning where Zane was humble. He wields words like weapons where Zane offered them as affectious sacraments.

The question of where one ends and the other begins—if both even exist simultaneously—is the pertinent point that causes Mohinder to toss in his sleep. It is the question that flips his daydreams into nightmares and turns Molly’s boogieman into the mysterious and undefined keeper of his heart.

Sometimes Mohinder wishes Zane never existed at all, but then he can’t imagine his life as it is missing that incredible discovery of human connection that twitches a smile unknowingly along his lips; the one that breaks his heart (and isn’t it something that he can still feel?) and rushes his blood.

Sylar stares at him with a similar curiosity that Zane did, but where Mohinder flushed under Zane’s intensive and admirable gaze, he bristles nervously within Sylar’s sights. Still, Sylar comes for him, showing up at odd times for a multitude of reasons that raise Mohinder’s eyebrow. The silent confession is that he wants Zane to have been real, maybe the most real part of Gabriel and Sylar, but that means accepting the looming shadows that stretch and contract with Sylar’s presence, the extremeties of a persona fantastically reaching.

He can’t imagine that Sylar seeks him out for anything other than cruel gameplay which has become their forte, rubbing in what he has gotten away with, and yet the very fact that Sylar has repeatedly spared Mohinder’s life cannot be ignored.

Where Zane held back, Sylar invades. He constantly moves into Mohinder’s space, imposing himself as if to ensure he is not forgotten. He engages Mohinder and forces his hand to participate, turning any (unexpected) common ground into a memento that is to be held onto, existing just between the two of them. He makes demands and declarations, insisting Mohinder look within and at the man standing before him. He draws mindnumbing parallels Mohinder would rather not give weight to and makes goodbyes sound forlorn. Mohinder doesn’t want to know what it means. He doesn’t want to think of Sylar in human terms, actually feeling something—_anything_—and encouraging it to exist within his own disturbed perimeters.

Mohinder bites the inside of his lower lip and considers how it is that two beings can occupy the same space so differently, so distinctly. He wonders how it is possible to love Zane and hate Sylar, and how it is even remotely fathomable to be loved by the man who has carefully unravelled his life for selfish gain. If love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Mohinder’s life is spinning madly, turning heads into tails.

The kettle whistles for his undivided attention and Mohinder huffs a tired breath. There was a time he felt life’s complications had a vaguely exciting quality to them for the effort they required to make it all work, the way he had to actively live his life just to keep his head above water. Now it seems overwhelming and worrisome.

When Mohinder closes his eyes he sees Zane and Sylar melt into one. He thinks about poisoned fruit and the devil you know, and that it is better to have loved and lost. He thinks in absolutes until the gray threatens to swarm him relentlessly and unapologetically. If Zane still exists somewhere inside of Sylar—of Gabriel—Mohinder wants to hold onto him. He wants to remember what could have been, feels he deserves it at the very least for everything he has fought to survive.

In the empty apartment Mohinder pours the hot water into a mug, ignoring the excrutiating feel of Sylar smiling mockingly behind him with a grin that jeers and whispers reverently, _‘You’ll never be free of me. We’re forever.’_

Mohinder walks fine lines all the time now, looking (longingly) over his shoulder and muttering retreads of old conversations in an attempt to make some sense of it all. He is a glutton for living in the past while racing towards the future and no matter how much he struggles to break free there are some things he is just bound to.

He has grown accustomed to being haunted.

**Author's Note:**

> Mylar Fic  
> **Third Place in bi-weekly contest**


End file.
